


the universe resting in my arms

by AceQueenKing



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Sex (Star Wars), Happy Ending, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Shhh that plot twist at the tail end of TROS didn't happen, Tender Sex, absolutely not, nope - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Rey sees Ben, quietly tooling around the Skywalker homestead, his hands wet with mechanic's grease, and the image is so perfect that she holds her breath, not wanting to mar it with a loud breath.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69
Collections: For one is both and both are one in love: The Reylo Fanfiction Anthology's Valentine's Day Exchange





	the universe resting in my arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lightningpelt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightningpelt/gifts).



_He’s there_.

Rey sees Ben, quietly tooling around the Skywalker homestead, his hands wet with mechanic's grease, and the image is so perfect that she holds her breath, not wanting to mar it with a loud breath. She hadn’t let herself think of what might happen past this point. There had been too many variables: Ben could have been killed leaving Exogol, one of her friends might have wanted to keep her company on her trip to bury Luke and Leia's sabers, Tatooine could be under a quarantine, and so many other disasters. There had not been room for any plans beyond the opening of this door; here or not here, all futures would unwind from this point on.

So this point was all she had allowed herself to hope for. And he is _here._

He notices her within half a second; the shy smile that blossoms over his face makes her heart melt.

“Rey,” he says, soft. He holds out his hand, sees the grease, hastily grabs a rag. “Place is a mess.” Hand slightly cleaned, he holds it out to her. It could be coated in Scarlaac ooze for all she cares; she closes the door tight and crosses it in minutes, grabs his hand in seconds.

“Needs a scavenger’s touch I think,” he says, his voice a little bit shaky. She suspects he has been caught in the same issue, the future too nebulous to be decided beyond choosing whether to walk forward hand in hand or not.

They have both chosen together. It will be a hard road to walk. She does not regret it.

She folds her hand over his own, slow. For once, they have the liberty of taking their time. That is not something Rey has ever known: a scary concept, patience.

“Won’t be easy, the scavenger’s life.” She wrinkles her nose, gently teasing him. He smiles, wider now. “Lots of freedom, but we’re on our own out here. No first order. No resistance.”

Of course, there is little of either, anymore. Representatives have been sent to Coruscant, and there is tentative hope for a peace treaty. But the Resistance is not her future, any more than the First Order was his. Perhaps in the future, they’ll open themselves back up to the wider universe, but for now, they are together. Kylo Ren died on Exogol. Rey disappeared soon after the last battle. There is nothing more and nothing less written in their public stories.

What happens from now on – well, that’s just between them.

“But you’ll be here,” he says, voice rough with hope in every uttered syllable. She reaches up, touches his cheek. His dark eyes flicker to it, as if he doesn’t believe the sensation of it. “Holding my hand."

“Yes,” she says, and he bends down, and she raises herself up, their lips meeting in a blissful balm. His hands almost instantly wind around her back, keep her steady. She kisses him hard, moves her hands to wrap around the back of his head to pull him closer. His heart beats loud against her chest, she feels how nervous he is in the way that his hands grip her tight, so tight, longing to compress into his chest, longing to kiss her deeper, it has been so long since he has dared to dream of more than simply holding her hand and now to know her kiss –

She realizes, abruptly, that she is picking up his thoughts in the force, and that he understands her as well: the longing in her, so long restrained and now pouring out of her in blazing heat. “You won’t be alone again,” he says, and then his lips dip lower.

She’s never thought of what their first time might be like; never allowed herself to think that far. But even if, in some small daydream, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be, she would have thought that it would be more complicated, more heavily negotiated, more careful.

But there are no need for words when you can feel the essence of the other’s desire in the force; he pushes her up onto a table, and she isn’t quite sure which of them starts undressing the other first, her heart is beating a thousand times an hour and his is, too. There is no him, no her, just a joyous union.

His fingers find the spark of life between her thighs, and she cries out, wordless, joyous; his forehead presses against hers, a reserved smile on his face that blossoms into a wider one.

They are free from all the heavy chains that have held them apart for so long.

“Please,” she says, and he kisses her, his kiss hot and heavy. He kisses her, and she feels the spark of him in her blood, the need, how badly he wants to taste her, and she wants to taste him too. His fingers rub slow circles over her clit, slow and steady. They do not need to rush, not now, but she wants to – wants to feel more of him, feels _all_ of him. She moves her hips faster, trying to get him to see her need – but he, of course, does, and teases her anyway. When she makes a soft moan, low in her throat, desperately wanting more, more.

“We aren’t rushing this,” he says. And it is hard for Rey, who has known so little, to really embrace that: she is afraid to take her time, has had too much snatched away from her without enough time. “Relax,” he says, and she is not sure if he whispers it against her throat, or if he only says it in his mind, but she tries, she tries.

He doesn’t stop spoiling her with attention with his lips while his hand moves slowly, back and forth, back and forth. His touch is slow and luxurious; he drives her nearly to her peak before darting his finger inside her, and she is wet and aching, _aching_ for him. He knows exactly what she wants, makes a strange and heady rhythm with his fingertips and taking her up to the brink and back. He continues to tease her, makes her legs are shaking and sends her past talking, past everything. There is only Ben in her senses, and all she can do is send through the force is a simple request: _please, please, please_.

She tries to return the attention to him. Her hand reaches to explore him, slowly mapping out new territory: the scars of his body, the new hard cock that lies between them. She slowly works it with her hands, listens to his soft little muffled moans: he is quieter than her but no less affected. She feels his urgency in the force; backs off only once he cannot stop himself from lightly thrusting through her fingertips. She cannot say how long they lose themselves in this quiet intimacy; for once, there is nothing between them.

And there is nothing to stop them but time.

“Please,” she says again, “ _Please_ ,” and he nods, moves to join them together, and it is like nothing Rey has ever experienced before. Her hands hold tight to his back, the force whispering every sensation between them. There are no more words; she feels the complicated joy in him as he moves inside of her, the sadness at forcing her to live an exile’s life mixed with the joy that she will stay by his side.

She presses her arms to him, holds him tight, murmurs promises against his skin. She does not mind Tattooine, for the moment; it is, in many ways, a simpler existence, and he has a long road to walk ahead to redeem himself from all the evil acts Kylo Ren has done.

But he has time.

His new life starts today, and it starts here. She wraps her arms around him as he moves within her, and when a tear slips past his cheek, she wordlessly kisses it away.

They are one now. She feels it, in every thrust: his body, her body, both working together for nothing beyond the pleasure of one another. And he drives it into her, that pleasure; she feels it, a white-hot force that grows and overwhelms her, a mixture of both his pleasure and hers. It does not have a name, what is between them; it is too holy for that, but they both feel it in every breath.

She kisses him as she comes, screams wordlessly in the joy of being together; as he comes, he holds her hands, shuddering into her in instinctual joy. He flops wordlessly down into her arms and she holds him tight.

The moment is too much to speak. And there is little need to, with the force.

“I’m glad you came,” he mumbles, and she chuckles at his double entendre, presses a kiss to his temple. They have time for jokes, now.

“What comes next?” He asks; she strokes his arm, his dark eyes looking at hers.

“We bury the past,” she says, slowly; she glances up toward the sky through the stars. “And chart the stars.” He simply smiles in response, and when she leans in on his shoulder, he kisses her with scalding, passionate heat.

After all, they have nothing but time to figure it out. Tomorrow, they will bury the sabers. Tomorrow, they will start to render this last little hovel a home. Tomorrow, their future begins.


End file.
